My Chemical Romance “The Black Parade” Release date Oct. 24 Reprise Records www.mychemicalromance.com 2 STARS

New Jersey emo-punkers My Chemical Romance went from cheering for sweet revenge to looking like a sad goth rendition of Sgt. Pepper on the infectious but vapid “The Black Parade.”

Clearly blinded by Freddie Mercury-inspired delusions of grandeur, MCR front man Gerard Way and company have traded the band’s sly, sardonic wit for arena rock melodies, string sections and vague attempts at a “concept” record.

Up-tempo numbers such as the rollicking “Dead!,” the thumping, danceable “”The Sharpest Lives” and the bouncy “I Don’t Love You” all combine the energy and melody for which the band has become known. Conversely, the morose “Cancer” and the gentle strumming of “The End” are what constitute a softer side for the band. Simply put, MCR is nearly impossible to classify throughout “The Black Parade.”

How exactly does one adequately categorize a bunch of wispy, pasty little white boys with bleached hair, white faces and a penchant for wearing women’s jeans who combine punk, metal, emo and multiple sub-sub genres in between? The album is at once both anthemic and utterly generic.

“The Black Parade” is often musically engaging while remaining lyrically insipid and youthfully idiotic. Bright spots on the album such as the aforementioned “Dead!,” the driving, “This is How I Disappear” and the hilariously wry and bluesy “Teenagers” are marred by maudlin, piano-driven drivel. It’s all a bit too overly theatrical and laughably heart wrenching for anyone without a serious MySpace addiction or a Pete Wentz fetish.

Musical expansion is admirable, but bombastic experimentation coupled with a half-baked, convoluted concept album about something as trite as a dying, young protagonist is a real recipe for disaster. My Chemical Romance would do well to remember that for every example such as “The Wall” or “Tommy” or “American Idiot,” there are dozens of musical abortions such as “The Elder” to remind the world just how mind bogglingly pathetic concept albums can truly be.

My Chemical Romance certainly has a hit on its hands, and that’s a definite testament to Way’s gift for melody and melodrama. Teenagers everywhere will surely lap it all up like a pack of Pavlovian dogs as soon as the first piano plinks of “Welcome to the Black Parade” saturate radio airwaves, but the album is largely devoid of real substance.

“The Black Parade” may be the best that infectious, Queen-loving bubblegum punk has to offer, but it’s still absolutely nothing more than bubblegum. It’s sweet, it’s delicious and it’s predictable, but it loses its flavor in 20 minutes, and you’re ready to spit it out in favor of something more substantial.